CANTO XLVI.: SUGRÍVA'S.

'How, King,' cried Ráma, 'didst thou gain
Thy lore of sea and hill and plain?
'I told thee how,' Sugríva,
From Báli's arm Máyáví 1
To Malaya's hill, and strove to save
His life by hiding in the cave.
I told how Báli sought, to kill
His foe, the hollow of the hill;
Nor need I, King, again unfold
The wondrous tale already told.
Then, wandering forth, my way I took
By many a town and wood and brook.
I roamed the earth from place to place,
Till, like a mirror's polished face,
The whole broad disk, that lies between
Its farthest bounds, mine eyes had seen.
I wandered first to eastern skies
Where fairest trees rejoiced mine eyes,
And many a cave and wooded hill
Where lilies robed the lake and rill.
There metal dyes that hill 2 adorn
Whence springs the sun to light the morn.
There, too, I viewed the Milky sea,
Where nymphs of heaven delight to be.
Then to the south I made my way
From regions of the rising day,
And roamed o'er Vindhya, where the breeze
Is odorous of sandal trees.
Still in my fear I found no rest:
I sought the regions of the west,
And gazed on Asta, 3 where the sun

Sinks when his daily course is run
Then from that noblest hill I fled
And to the northern country sped,
Saw Himavánt 1 and Meru'Meru'sp,
And stood beside the northern deep.
But when, by Báli's might oppressed,
E'en in those wilds I could not rest,
Came Hanumánwise and brave,
And thus his prudent counsel gave:
'I told thee how Matanga 2 cursed
Thy tyrant, that his head should burst
In pieces, should be dare invade
The precincts of that tranquil shade.
There may we dwell in peace and be
From thy oppressor's malice free.'
We went to Rishyamúka's,
And spent our days secure from ill
Where, with that curse upon his head,
The cruel Báli durst not tread.'